


Salt and Sand

by Monica_Hart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 7x05, Droughtjoy 2017, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Poor Theon, Sandcastles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monica_Hart/pseuds/Monica_Hart
Summary: Prompt 8 of Droughtjoy 2017.Theon builds a sandcastle of Winterfell on the beach of Dragonstone.





	Salt and Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 8 of Droughtjoy 2017 submitted by anonymous.

 

“Her Grace says you’re not permitted to join the council.”

 

“I… I understand.” Theon knew that this was going to happen. He’d left Yara and the others to die while he jumped into the sea. He’d lost a large portion of their fleet. He’d run away while he knew what Euron would do to them. _She named me as her protector, and I had failed her. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault._ Daenerys hated him. He was never going to rescue his sister now.

“Her Grace would like you to take a rest after your journey.” Davos stated. “Actually, it’s more because Jon doesn’t want to see you.”

 

Of course Jon was furious at him. He’d betrayed his family, and Theon thought that he was going to choke him to death right there yesterday. _I deserve to die._ He thought bitterly. _I’m useless. I can’t even die. I should have died fighting. I should have drowned. Why am I still alive?_

“Well, I should be going,” Davos turned around to leave. “You really should have some rest.” He took a few steps, and added, “If you’re not tired, you can walk around if you like. There’s a beach down there if you haven’t noticed. Lovely view.”

 

“I think I’ll go there,” Theon replied. “I… need some time alone.”

 

“Don’t push yourself too hard. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there.”

 

That was how Theon found himself on the beach at Dragonstone. He had to admit, the view was spectacular. It was nothing like the beaches on Pyke where he used to spend a whole day playing and swimming and looking for shells with Yara when he was a child, which were filled with coarse sand and rocks. There were rocks here as well, but the sand was smooth and wet, just right for building sandcastles. He had tried building them on Pyke, but always ended up making a lump of ugly, wet sand. Even though, he had tried again and again, and when he finally succeeded in creating one, he had presented to Father, who didn’t show even the slightest hint of pride at his creation. “Ironborn do not play in the sand,” Balon Greyjoy had spat at the crushed sandcastle and left it to be washed away by the sea. Theon had cried for nights after that. He never had the chance to build another one, for Ned Stark had brought him away from the sand to Winterfell. _I would have loved it here. I would have built a thousand sandcastles, and I would have lived in the largest one, the largest sandcastle in all of Westeros and Essos._

 

Suddenly, he realized what he had thought. How foolish he was to think that a sandcastle could be his home. _You’ve always been a fool, Reek. You really thought that you would have a home outside of me? You’re mine, Reek. Always. Forever. Even when you’re rotting in the ground, you will always belong to me._

Theon knelt down and covered his ears. _No. You’re dead. My name is Theon. Not Reek._

 

_I may be dead, but I’m always there, Reek. I’m always inside you. I’m a part of you. Remember that night when you left Yara to die? You jumped because you saw me right there on the ship. You saw me holding an axe to her throat, laughing at you. You saw me removing someone’s tongue. Really, I should have removed your tongue along with that other part. That’ll teach you a lesson or two…_

Theon grabbed a fistful of wet sand and threw it into the sea, pretending that he was throwing it at Ramsay. _It’s no use Reek… there’s no way you can chase me away…_ He could see Ramsay sneering at him. He grabbed another handful of sand and prepared to take aim, but instead fell and sat down weakly, his arm falling limply to the side. _What was that I heard you often mutter to yourself? Ah, yes. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak. It really fits you, Reek. Especially when you’re so weak you couldn’t even save the one person who trusted the most._

_You’re right. My nephew sure is a coward. A treacherous coward. Even he himself agrees. Say it, Little Theon. Say it out loud._ Theon saw his uncle standing next to Ramsay, lips stretched wide in a sneer like he did on the ship.

 

_Why, Theon, why?_ Yara’s face was bloody and bruised. _You’ve failed me, little brother. And I had trusted you._

“I… please, no, I’m sorry!” Theon screamed. He turned his head around and saw the person he had loved most. Or more accurately, his best friend’s body with his wolf’s head replacing the red curls and blue eyes.

 

_You betrayed me, Theon._ Robb Stark whispered. _You killed my brothers. How could you?_

“I… I didn’t have a choice, Robb… I…”

 

_I should have never sent you back to Pyke. I should have never been your friend, Turncloak._

The four figures circled closer and closer around him. They were all looking at him with hatred, and they were all talking loudly in his ear. Theon couldn’t see a thing except for their faces, and they were so close that he couldn’t breathe…

 

Theon slammed his hand on the sand. He repeated this again and again until he felt pain creeping up his arm. Tears ran down his cheeks and into the sand, forming dark spots. _They’re all right. All of this was my fault. If I didn’t leave Winterfell, none of this would have happened. If I could only go back to the past…_

He remembered one sunny afternoon after a light snow at the practice yard in Winterfell. Ned Stark and his wife were watching Bran practise with Robb. He was sitting under a tree, eating an apple. Jon was there too. Suddenly, Sansa had come running towards them, with snow in her hair and a wet skirt, followed by a laughing Arya, who was pelting her with snowballs. Bran had squealed in delight in the prospects of a snowball fight, and had switched his wooden sword for a large snowball, which promptly found its way into Sansa’s flushed face.

 

What came afterwards was a blur. Theon remembered being hit in the face by Robb and Jon, and himself picking up snow and throwing them back. Even Ned Stark himself had joined in, to Lady Catelyn’s dismay, but she too threw snow at her youngest daughter after she was hit by one of her attacks. He remembered how everyone laughed and smiled when the fight was over, and how this was closest time he felt he was a Stark. He had always wanted to be one of them, but when the time came for him to choose, he had chosen the wrong option.

 

He wished to go back to those Winterfell days, where everything was better than what he had been through a few years ago. But he couldn’t.

 

Theon took a few handfuls of sand and started to shape them into a square. _Even if I can’t go back, I can still make myself remember what was before._ After a while, he had formed the walls and main parts of Winterfell. _It looks just like Winterfell, but there’s something missing._ What was it?

 

Lord Stark had always said that there always must be a Stark in Winterfell. Perhaps that was why he had suffered so much. He had forced Bran and Rickon out of their home, pretended to kill them, and he had got what he deserved. _The worst crime I had made,_ Theon wondered as he sculpted the tallest tower. The same tower where Bran had fell. The same tower where Sansa had asked to give a rescue signal. The same tower where it all went wrong.

 

Jon and Sansa have returned to Winterfell, but Arya, Bran and Rickon may never return to their home, and Lord and Lady Stark and Robb had died leagues and leagues away. Robb… it still pained him to think that he had betrayed his brother, who had cared for him more than his own father and brothers. _They couldn’t go home because of me. I destroyed their home because I never had one. And by doing that, I had destroyed my home._

Theon started to mould some sand into figures. _At least they could be together in Winterfell here._ He placed the sand figures of the Starks, complete with Jon in the courtyard, forming one big happy family. He also put a small sand figure a bit further away from the family. _I could never be one of them._ He reflected. _They had never accepted me as a Stark, though we had lived under the same roof and ate the same bread. I could only watch and wish._

He withdrew his hand after placing the figure of himself, an outsider inside the castle, but his hand was still fidgeting after years of torture, and therefore knocked down part of Winterfell. Theon let out a sharp gasp in disbelief. No. It can’t be true. He had destroyed Winterfell again, along with his dreams. _My, my, Reek. You were always so clumsy._ Ramsay’s voice cackled. _Can’t you be a little more careful next time? I feel really bad for the Starks now. They had their home stormed twice by you. Winterfell can’t escape Theon Greyjoy’s hands, even when he’s the one who built it._

_Little Theon is such a failure. He ruins everything._ His uncle laughed along with Ramsay. 

 

_“_ You’re all right. I am a failure.” Theon’s voice shook. “Everything is always- my fault!” He couldn’t hold it anymore. He had ruined everyone’s lives because he was a stupid attention-seeking coward who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Theon felt a sudden rage bubbling inside him, a sudden need to tear things apart. He brought both hands down onto the broken castle and smashed it into pieces. The walls and towers of Winterfell crumbled at his touch, and so did the sand figures. In minutes, there was nothing left of Winterfell. His damaged hands hurt like hell, but he kept punching the sand. He was furious at himself for betraying Robb, for killing those two farm boys, for helping the Boltons claim the North, for letting Ramsay rape Sansa on their wedding night, for denying her safety, and for running away when his sister needed him most. “I don’t deserve to live,” He sobbed as buried his head into his hands. “Just kill me already!”

 

Theon remained still on the beach for a long time. The sun was setting when he finally looked up. He saw that the sea had risen up to wash away the ruins of the sandcastle, and he would too be washed away if he didn’t leave. _The sea has taken away my home; let it take me away too._ Theon absentmindedly stirred the wet sand around his feet. _I’ve got nothing to live for._

Yara had once told him not to die so far from the sea. Now he was in the sea. _I suppose when I wake up, I’ll be in the Drowned God’s halls,_ he thought as he closed his eyes. It wasn’t the way he would have wanted to die, but at least he would die as Theon Greyjoy. _I wonder if I’ll see Yara again…_

Yara. Wait. Though it was most likely that she would be rotting in a dungeon somewhere, she might still be alive. _If she’s alive, then someone would have to rescue her from Euron’s clutches… to rescue her from being turned into someone like… me._ Theon’s eyes blinked wide open. He knew how it was to be Reek. He may have deserved it, but Yara sure didn’t. And he won’t let that happen to her.

 

He suddenly thought of a morning a few days after he had unsuccessfully tried to make Father proud of him. Yara had dragged him out of bed early and led him to the beach. She had told him that even though his castle had been knocked down and reduced to bits by the sea, as long as the sand was wet, he could always start over and build another one. He had felt much better afterwards and invited her to take part in the reconstruction, but they had been called to breakfast and he had forgotten about it. She had agreed after a moment’s consideration though. He had been so happy about that, and to this day, he could still picture her smiling face when he had hugged her in excitement. If only he could see her smile again…

 

_I am the wet sand. People can knock me down or crush me or destroy me, but as long as there’s help, they can never stop me from rebuilding myself into a stronger person._

Slowly, Theon pushed himself up. His legs hurt from sitting on the sand for too long, but he stood up and staggered back onto dry land. He would save his sister one day and restore the rule of the Iron Islands back to her. Perhaps they would finish their sandcastle. Even if he failed, this would only empower him to win back the Iron Islands from Euron. And he would make him pay for what he did.

 

_My name is Theon Greyjoy. What is dead may never die, but rises harder and stronger._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, so I hope you all enjoyed it. If there's anything I can do better, feedback is more than appreciated. Thank you!


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